The Crown: A Modern-Day Fairytale Romance

by Samantha Whiskey

  He chuckled, and the smile was enough to send my heart fluttering. Yes, fluttering. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at my own ridiculousness. “Betrothed.”

  I hissed despite myself. “That is a word I could live without.” I stared down at his hand on my thigh, shaking my head. I didn’t know he was betrothed, didn’t realize that whatever happened between us would reflect badly on him. I stood up, unable to handle the warmth of his touch for a moment longer, and doused myself with mental buckets of ice water. “I didn’t know it was already at that stage,” I said. “I’m sorry. About the kisses…” I palmed my forehead. I had kissed him openly in the lobby, outside the skating rink, anyone could’ve seen.

  “What could you possibly have to apologize for,” he asked, standing before me. “You’ve done nothing wrong. It was me who wanted to be a normal man for a few blissful moments before reality revealed me for who I am.”

  “A prince,” I said, a teasing to my tone. “Batman.”

  He took my hand, tracing circles on the back with his finger. Chills erupted over my skin, and my breath hitched. “That, yes, but I’m also a man. One who is completely in awe of everything that is you. And I wanted you to know about the betrothal, but I also want you to know that it’s not official to the public yet. It was a promise made between our parents when we were children, and nothing more. In three months, that won’t be the case. It will be public, official, and I will no longer be single.”

  My eyes met his, hope blooming in my chest. “So,” I said, my eyes dropping back to his hand in mine. “You’re saying we have…months?”

  A low hiss left his lips, and I saw the pain flicker in his eyes. The weight of his duty, of his position, made them look almost solid. “Yes. And I know that it isn’t much, and that isn’t anywhere close to fair, but I can’t seem to stay away from you now. You’ve…” his face strained as he struggled to find the words.

  “Bewitched me? Body and soul?” I teased, saying the lines from my favorite Austen novel.

  His laugh wrapped around me like a warm hug and I breathed deeply, inhaling his scent, and trying like hell not to sense the power in it, either. “Of course,” he said once he’d stopped laughing. “I’m dating a writer.”

  My brows rose at the label he’d placed on us. “Are we dating?”

  “If you’ll have me. A prince with a departure date. I am enchanted by you, Willa, but I won’t lie to get what I want. You have to know the score. I have three months, and they’re yours if you want them, but I can’t give you any more, no matter how much I might want to.”

  A tiny slice of pain cut through the center of my chest. I’d only known him for a few days, and I was already dreading his leave. But honestly, this could go nowhere beyond what I’d originally intended anyway.

  I’m no princess. I thought again, though I would never apologize for that fact. I loved who I was, and it had taken a good amount of years to be this comfortable in my own skin. Nothing, not even a royally gorgeous man who had a direct line to my flutter-button could change that. But this? I could have my moment with him and still stay me.

  “It’s a good thing you wrecked your brother’s car,” I said, stepping into his space another inch. I craned my neck to meet his eyes, reaching up on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck. “I can handle a fun fling if you can.”

  A spark of electricity turned those solid brown eyes to melted chocolate. “Truly?”

  I nodded, teasing the edge of his strong jaw with my nose. His hands moved to grip my waist, and a warm shudder rippled through me at their strength.

  “Willa,” he said, my name a breath between us as his lips inched toward mine.

  I debated for blinks of time and hurried beats of my heart. I could submit now, allow myself the end of torture in the chemistry between us, in the ache with his name on it between my thighs. But I was never one to submit easily, no matter how much I knew he could demand something of me in that growly voice of his and I would be on my knees in a second. The image of him bare before me at knee level, all his gloriousness to behold, made my mouth water.

  No.

  I dropped my toes, sinking to my normal level, smirking as I stepped away from his advance.

  His grin was sly, but questioning and I saw the battle in his eyes as he debated what I had—if he wanted to press the issue, persuade me to change my mind.

  “I have an idea,” I blurted before he could open his mouth and say some sort of magic word that would have my dress disappear…you know, something incredibly complex like…Willa.

  “What’s that?” He placed his hands behind his back, the cords of his muscles softening a fraction.

  I glanced around him, eyeing the balcony. “First,” I said, returning my eyes to his. “We need more junk food.”

  “More?” he had the nerve to sound shocked.

  I nodded, backing toward the door.

  “I can send Oliver—”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s your bodyguard, not your intern.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me, and that Adam’s apple bobbed again. I smirked, my hand on the knob. “You aren’t used to people telling you no, are you?”

  He shook his head.

  “This is going to be so much fun.”

  Twenty minutes and two sacks of candy bars, pretzels, and soda later, Xander was holding his hard stomach, waving his hands over the array of wrappers between us.

  “No more, woman. I can take no more.”

  “But you haven’t even tried the Snickers yet!”

  He stood, walking as if he’d gained five pounds, and twisted open a bottle of water. “I don’t know how you people do it,” he said, taking fast sips before licking the drops of water of his lips. I had a hard time pulling my eyes away from the tongue that did the job.

  “My people?” I asked.

  “Americans.” He set the bottle down, sighing. “I feel like I might burst from the sugar rush, or pass out. I’m not sure which would be more welcomed right now.”

  “Lightweight,” I teased, popping another M&M into my mouth before hauling myself off the sofa, too.

  He looked at me from lowered brows. “You wouldn’t say that if it were a whiskey bottle between us instead of candy wrappers.”

  Another ripple of want flowed under my skin at the powerful gaze he fastened on me. “I have no doubt,” I said. “I like my whiskey with a little ginger ale.”

  He scoffed. “Don’t say that when you come to Elleston. It’s grounds for imprisonment.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was joking because my heart stuttered on the term when as opposed to if.

  He cleared his throat, seeming to notice the shift in the room. “Now what?” He asked, his smile soft and easy and this side of endearing.

  “Phase two of the plan.” I glanced at my cell. “Perfect,” I said. “It’s after midnight.” I slipped on my coat and padded to the balcony in socked feet, unlatching the sliding glass door. I had it open and one foot on the cold concrete when I beckoned him over with one crook of my finger.

  And he came.

  I tried not to chuckle at the notion that a prince was answering my call.

  Tried like hell to not let it turn me on, either, but I was only human.

  “What happens after midnight?” He asked as he joined me where I leaned against the railing. Puffs of air escaped our mouths from the cold, but our thick coats made it bearable.

  “Everything,” I said, waving an arm at the city beneath us.

  New York came alive at night; it’s array of buildings sparkling from their own source of starlight since there was none to be seen. And while my little cottage offered me the seclusions I needed on a daily basis, the city was wonderful for little pieces of stolen adventure when desired.

  People hustled and strolled, some alone, some in groups or couples, but everything was alive and pulsing. The noise barely filtered up to us on the twentieth-floor balcony, but echoes of the night hummed around our bodies, fueling the g
rowing heat between the inches that separated us.

  “There,” I said, pointing toward a girl pacing on the corner of the street where she appeared to be waiting for someone. The way she stomped her boots with each pass on the small, slightly crowded corner made me chuckle. “You see the brunet with the cell gripped in her hand?”

  Xander narrowed his eyes, resembling a hawk as he used his whole body to shift to where I pointed. “Yes?”

  “Her boyfriend was supposed to pick her up an hour ago, but Todd has never been one to be on time. And she’s contemplating paying him back by heading to that club over there.” I pointed a block down the street where if we listened hard enough we might hear the thump thump of base echo from the club’s doors. “She knows a bartender there…Jake. He’d help drown her anger in vodka tonics the rest of the night. Free of charge, of course.”

  Xander squinted at me, a tilt to his head. “You’re friends with them?”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “No.”

  “But you know them.”

  I snorted. “No. This is one of my favorite games to play when I stay in the city.”

  He surveyed me for a few seconds, likely determining if I was as crazy as the colors in my hair. Glancing down at the street, he pointed to a pair of college-aged guys who’d stopped in front of a bodega. One was helping the other secure a thick rope of gold around his neck.

  “And them?” he challenged.

  “They’ve been best friends since the third grade and are about to pick up a meal to take back to the one with the necklace, Brad’s, grandmother. Whom they live with to save money while they go to school.”

  He chuckled, pointing to a man smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall of another building. “He’s on his break.”

  Xander scoffed. “Not your best.”

  I narrowed my gaze at him. “On his break from running the strip club around the corner. He’s in love with his top-earning dancer, Cherrypop.”

  My cheeks hurt from trying to keep my face deadpan as Xander doubled over from laughing. “Much better,” he managed to say through his laughs. The crinkles around his eyes seemed almost foreign like he didn’t laugh near enough.

  It made my heart full, knowing I could offer him that release.

  “Your turn.” I pointed to a group of girls in mini-dresses despite the cold night. They wore heels and gripped glittered clutches as they strutted down the sidewalk lining the massive buildings, no clear destination in mind it seemed.

  “Oh,” he said, leaning his elbows further over the railing, the motion so casual and relaxed it made my stomach melty. “The Giavati sisters? They’re on their way to the eldest sister’s fiancé’s restaurant. They’ll dine for free, naturally, and drink several bottles of house wine before heading to the bodega where Brad and his friend will have returned to get the dessert they forgot for his grandmother. The youngest Giavati will fall madly in love with Brad, and they’ll live happily ever after.”

  I laughed so hard tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. “Not bad,” I said. “You are a romantic.”

  “Why do you say that?” He asked, turning his full attention to me.

  “Because you gave them a happy ending.”

  “As an author, I thought you’d appreciate it.” He smirked. “Are you telling me the owner of the strip club and Cherrypop don’t get a happy ending?” The stripper’s name sounded hilarious with his accent coating it, and the tears now rolled down my cheeks, which ached. I swiped them away, sucking in breaths of city-night air.

  We played the people-watching game for another hour until our sides hurt so much we returned inside. In the bathroom, I changed into soft cotton pajama shorts and a fitted, v-neck tank top, and totally ignored the couch as I headed for the king-sized bed in his room, the double doors open and inviting. I crashed against it, exhaustion settling deep in my bones from the night.

  He came out of his own bathroom dressed in black silk pajama pants and a white cotton T that strained against his broad, muscled chest. I swallowed hard. “You certainly take lounge wear to an entirely new level.”

  He licked his lips, eyeing my bare legs. “I could say the same about you. Did you forget it’s winter?”

  “I’m a hot sleeper.”

  He swallowed hard, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “Are we going to sleep?”

  “I don’t want to go to my room just yet,” I admitted. “Can we talk some more?”

  He smiled, somehow pleased with my desire to stay. “More story weaving?”

  I shook my head, rolling to my side to stuff a couple of pillows underneath my head. He mimicked my position on the other side, and something charged and hot crept up my spine. The comfort, the ease as I laid next to him in bed like we’d done it a thousand times before, was almost as welcoming as the exhilaration his scent on the warm sheets stirred inside me.

  “Tell me something real,” he said, his voice almost a whisper despite it just being the two of us.

  I could see the sleepiness curl around his dark eyes, too, as he breathed deep and loose and free. “I love the sound of your laugh,” I said, my tone just as soft. “And I hate that it surprises you, that laughter. Like you’d forgotten how.”

  He sighed, closing his eyes.

  “Your turn,” I said.

  “I’m afraid,” he answered without opening his eyes, and I saw the large, muscled forearm bunch up underneath the pillow like he was clenching his hand into a fist. “That I won’t be enough.” The words were so quiet I might have imagined them.

  I trailed the pad of my finger over those tight muscles, relishing the way they relaxed under my touch. “Don’t be,” I said, closing my eyes as he hadn’t opened his. The weight of all the truths laid between us tonight, and the laughing fest we’d fallen into outside had made me more tired than I even realized. “You’re one hell of a man, Xander. And you don’t need to be anyone more than that. Not for Elleston. And especially not with me.”

  A few long, silent beats passed between us, but I couldn’t pry my eyes open.

  “Willa,” he said my name on a whisper, but the sweet arms of sleep had already curled around me.

  Xander

  The sun lit the room with the soft glow of dawn, the colors reminding me of Willa’s hair. Then again, everything for the last few days had reminded me of Willa. How was it possible for someone I’d barely met to have burrowed a place inside my heart? I reached across her pillow and carefully lifted a purple strand from where it lay across her cheek. It was as soft as silk as it slipped through my fingers. Everything about her was soft in all the perfect places.

  Except her tongue. That was sharp...unless it was in my mouth.

  My fingers trailed down her spine, bare between the straps of the tank top she slept in. Soon, she’d have on nothing.

  My dick jumped at the thought.

  A few months were all I had to give her, but our cards were on the table—sand running through the hourglass and all that bullshit. We both knew the stakes. A few months to laugh, to taste the joy that constantly emanated from her. She was sunshine in an otherwise dark room, and I was desperate to bask in her warmth for as long as possible.

  Laying next to her, the scent of her perfume invading my senses, I wasn’t sure a few months were going to be enough. Hell, we’d already spent almost a week here in New York.

  Three cursory knocks sounded on my door before it flew open.

  “What the fuck—Mother?” I sat up, the sheet falling from my naked chest as my mother stood in my doorway, her eyes flickering between Willa and me. “Get. out.”

  Her eyes flew wide, and her mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water.

  “Now,” I commanded as Willa shifted next to me.

  Mother paled, but she backed up and shut the door behind her as she left.

  “Xander?” Willa asked, her voice sleep-softened and her eyes hazy as she blinked up at me. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s fine,” I promised, placing
a kiss on her temple. “Just some unexpected family. Stay here, and I’ll take care of it.”

  My feet hit the floor, and I pulled a shirt on, grateful I’d spent the night in sleep-pants. I’d needed as many layers between us as possible.

  “Do you want me to leave?” Willa asked softly.

  I turned to see her sitting up in bed, the sheet clutched to her chest as if she was naked. I wish she was naked. “Please don’t. Stay. Let me sort this out, and I’ll be right back. Don’t move a muscle.”

  She nodded, but there was a twinge of fear in her eyes that I needed to alleviate. I crossed the room and kissed her, my lips clinging to hers a moment too long and letting go way too soon. “I like you in my bed,” I whispered against her lips.

  Then I left in search of my mother.

  I didn’t have to go far. She, Jameson, and Charlotte sat at the dining room table. Well, Charlotte and Jameson sat. Mother was pacing.

  “Jameson, Charlotte. Good to see you,” I said as I took a seat at the head of the table.

  Coffee appeared at the hand of a skittish maid who kept glancing nervously at where Mother was wearing a path through the carpet. “Thank you,” I told her gently and took the pot before it ended up in my lap. “To what do I owe your early return?”

  “To what...TO WHAT?” Mother snapped.

  “The news of the Anti-Monarchist riot reached us as we landed in LA,” Charlotte said calmly. She sipped her coffee and raised her eyebrows at Mother.

  “We figured we needed to cut the whole trip short,” Jameson added, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “Want to tell us what’s got Mother in freak-out mode?”

  “What’s got me?” Mother yelled. Her eyes flew wide, and she cleared her throat, visually composing herself. “First, you skip out on LA and send Jaime in your stead, and now you have an American in your bed.”

  “The American?” Jameson asked, leaning forward.

  “Yes, I do,” I told Mother.

  Charlotte gave me a thumbs-up until Mother scoffed in her direction. “Jaime, how about we leave these two to their discussion?” she asked.